Amazing Love (8 page)

The pleasure of his embrace.

 

The days were getting longer and the fireworks weren't scheduled to start until nine. At 7:00 p.m., the kids begged to stay for the show and the bus driver said he didn't mind hanging around till the park closed. So, once again, Luke had to go along or be the bad guy.

Everybody enjoyed a fireworks display and he was no exception, so he'd agreed. There was a day when he'd been mesmerized by the choreographed pyrotechnics that ended his band's outdoor concerts. Great cannons launched missiles into the black sky that exploded into rainbow showers of sparks. He'd watched along with his young fans, amazed at the science that produced the spectacular light shows. As misguided as Striker had been, there were times when he'd reacted like the normal kid that he was deep inside. Luke was grateful that God allowed the occasional flash of insight into that confusing time in his life.

“Let's get that fancy dinner I promised you,” Luke said to Claire as they turned at the signpost that pointed the way to the food court.

“I'm not so sure a chili cheese dog is such a good idea after the cartwheels my insides have been turning today.” Her eyes were scrunched with doubt.

He smiled and tugged on her hand to gain her cooperation. In the hours since her ordeal on the roller coaster she hadn't broken their contact for more than a couple of minutes. She'd clung to him as she climbed from the car, and held on while her wobbly legs returned to normal. Then she'd reached for his steadying support after each dizzying ride. The touch had turned to a comfortable connection that he couldn't help but enjoy.

The kids had snickered and pointed but soon seemed to ignore the hand-holding that was pretty commonplace stuff among the general population. But for Luke, the simple act was profound, and he was constantly aware of her warm touch. Her voluntary closeness could no longer be blamed on fear. He wanted to believe it was her wish to be near him, mostly because he was feeling the same. A need for this chaste contact gripped Luke.

“If your stomach's had all the adventure it can stand for one day I guess I can hunt you down a grilled chicken sandwich.”

“You're too kind,” she deadpanned. “But since you're to blame for my unstable insides, I'd say you at least owe me that much.”

“Now wait a minute.” He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “After that ear-
splitting scream I wouldn't have given a plug nickel for the chance of getting you on a second coaster, much less a third.
You're
the one who wanted to give it another shot.”

“Guilty as charged.” She ducked her head to hide her brief smile of accomplishment. “But it looked like fun and I didn't want to be left out again.”

The wistful note in her voice told him she'd just shared something personal. He wanted to know more.

“Again? You've been here before?”

“Sure, but I've always been the responsible one who waited on the bench and held onto everybody's caps and purses.”

“Even as a kid?” he asked, hearing the disbelief in his question.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you joking? At their age I didn't have time for amusement parks, and nobody would have invited me anyway. I was a private-school nerd who spent all my spare time involved in pageants. I didn't get asked out a single time in high school.”

“Oh, please.” He refused to accept that as fact. “A girl as beautiful as you didn't date?”

“My looks were just one more strike against me. The girls were jealous so they never included me, and the boys figured they wouldn't have a chance so they didn't bother asking.”

Luke flashed back to a time when he never knew if he was liked for himself or for the fame and money he possessed. It only took a moment to connect with what she must have felt as a teenage girl who wasn't unconditionally accepted by her peers.

He stopped walking, stared down into her questioning eyes and squeezed her hand. “Well, this boy's gonna bother. Claire Savage, will you have dinner with me? A real dinner, not just fast food. We could drive down to the Kemah Boardwalk.”

“Are you asking me on a
date?
” Her eyebrows shot up along with her voice.

“Well, no, but you don't have to sound so shocked by the possibility.” His stomach knotted at the skepticism in her tone. Maybe he had been a bit hard on her. “Friends do occasionally spend time together, you know. We are friends, aren't we?” What a dweeb he was, asking for approval, not much better off than the junior high kids who'd pestered them all day.

She giggled behind her hand at his suggestion, sounding very young and innocent herself.

He pushed for an answer. “So, how's tomorrow night?”

“What about band practice?” The sparkle in her eyes said she wanted to agree but he'd already learned her nature was to think of others first.

“I'm gonna work those guys so hard tomorrow they'll need the night off to recover.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for asking. Sure, I'll go to dinner with you…friend.”

Before her heels touched the ground he pulled her to his chest and brought his lips down to meet hers.

C
laire closed her eyes and gave in to the sweet moment. The kiss was unexpected and brief. Barely seconds elapsed and it was over. Luke ended the contact, and for the first time in her twenty-seven years Claire ached to continue.

This man was bringing so many new experiences into her life, most of them involving her emotions. And now, her heart was joining in the fun. The attraction was profound and profoundly confusing. They'd be headed down separate paths in a couple of weeks; Luke to the life on the road that he seemed to love and she to Sturgis and the excitement of the rally and the public unveiling of the Savage. What was God's purpose in bringing them together for this short time? Claire knew she was beginning to feel His healing touch through Luke, but would God send a man she
could finally be comfortable with only to take him away?

As the canopy of dusk began to drape the park and streetlamps flickered to life, Claire searched Luke's rugged face for answers to her questions. Then she boldly spoke what was on her mind.

“Where is this headed, Luke?”

Still holding her in a loose embrace, he pressed his forehead to hers. She felt the warmth of his breath when he exhaled. He remained quiet as he seemed to consider the question, then finally spoke.

“Someplace I've never been before.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I guess that depends mostly on you, Claire. You don't seem to do anything without a lot of careful preparation, and I don't want my time here to throw a wrinkle in your plans.”

She leaned her head back so she could see his face, but he kept his eyes closed. The opportunity was too perfect to resist. She turned her face to the side and rested her cheek against his chest. The rapid thumping of his heart was the confirmation she needed.

“You've ironed out more wrinkles in a few days than my therapist has in the past two years.”

He kissed the top of her head and ended the hug but kept hold of her hand. “Someday we'll have to share our therapy stories, but right now let's eat.” His lazy grin slid into place but a tender light she hadn't seen before glowed in his eyes.

 

Late the next morning, Luke enjoyed the solitude of his studio as he mulled over the strong emotions ignited by his time with Claire.

“Excuse me, Luke.” Dana had slipped into the Praise Productions trailer so quietly he hadn't realized she was there. He swiveled his leather chair away from the mixing board to face her. Today she sported a dreadful Gothic getup, all black clothing and white makeup that gave her a seasick glow.

“What's up, lizard?”

They both smiled at the nickname he'd given her to acknowledge her quick-change, chameleon expression of fashion.

“I thought I should let somebody know that one of the girls is getting a little schizoid about Zach.” Dana was overboard about the guys herself, but more like a protective sister than a crazed fan.

“Define schizoid.”

She narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes and pursed her maroon lips to telegraph gimme-a-break impatience.

“You know, getting all mental like some stalker. Zach gave Nicole Arnold a drumstick to shut her up and now she's saying nutso stuff about wanting to cut off one of his fingers so she can take a little piece of him home with her.”

Luke grimaced at the image.

“Nice, huh?” Dana mirrored his reaction and nodded her head. “You want me to run her off?”

At the thought of tiny little Dana Stabler acting as bouncer for the Harvest Sons, he threw his head back and enjoyed the best laugh he'd had in weeks.

“You think I can't do it?” She took offense.

He wiped his eyes with the heels of both hands. “You, dear girl, can do anything you set your mind to. But don't you think there's a more Christian way to handle this?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she admitted.

Luke stood and lightly touched Dana's shoulder to guide her toward the door. “You've done your part. I'll take it from here.”

Her clunky black boots tromped down the metal ramp he used to roll heavy equipment on and off the trailer. Luke spotted Pastor Ken's truck in its usual spot, closed and locked the door and headed toward the building.

He slipped into the back of the sanctuary and stood in the dim light to watch for a bit. The Sons were supposed to be running through the playlist Luke had arranged for them. They were ten days from recording and the dozen songs would have to be rehearsed hundreds of times.

Eric was seated on the apron of the stage, his long legs dangling. He was working on something with Brian, who seemed less surly and more at ease today. The brothers were beginning to believe in the
potential of the group and their chance to get out from under the control of their volatile father. Eric was developing into a fine leader, mimicking Luke's coaching style, encouraging and probing, insisting on mastering the basics. He felt the flutter of what must have been a fatherly sense of pride.

“Thank You for leading me here,” Luke whispered.

He glanced toward the back of the platform. Chad stood behind his electric keyboard, brows knit in concentration as he practiced the fingering of a tricky bridge. And Zach, the focus of a girl who wanted a hunk of his hand for a keepsake, practiced some fingering of his own as he twirled his drumsticks, tossing them high in the air for effect.

“Zach, work on your grooves and save the drum major routine for later,” Luke barked as he trudged forward. Each boy snapped out of his personal fog and turned toward Luke's voice. He had their attention, might as well get some work done.

“Chad, let's hear that bridge from the top and lead straight into the last verse. Eric, the kids already know this song and they love it. Don't stress over your Spanish accent. Give it the emotion you do when you sing it in English and you'll have them at
hola
.”

“Muchas gracias, senor.”
Eric rolled his R's and grinned.

“Brian, I want to hear more bass in the closing
measures. You're exceptional on this number so bring it on, okay?
You
be the show-off brother for a change.” He glared at Eric, who'd become almost overconfident in his stage presentation. Another similarity between Luke and this boy.

Brian ducked his head but nodded agreement. A little color rose in his pale cheeks indicating his pleasure. They picked up the number where Luke instructed. Downright impressed, he gave the Sons two thumbs up and motioned to continue as he left them to practice.

At midday the large lobby of the church was empty. He paused at the open door to Ken's study. Notes and candy wrappers spread across his desk, the pastor tapped away on his laptop.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Never,” Ken answered without missing a keystroke. “Come on in, I'm at a good stopping place.” He finished and snapped the lid down. “What's on your mind?”

“I'm in a situation I don't know how to handle and I could use some guidance and prayer,” Luke said.

Had it really been less than a week since he'd sat in this room thinking he'd be the last person to make that admission? God did indeed work in strange ways, but Luke had accepted that long ago. He glanced up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching and then quietly closed the door.

 

As he drove, Luke surreptitiously examined his appearance and flipped the truck visor back into place. He hoped his visit to the barber wasn't an obvious sign of his last shred of vanity. It had been so long since he'd worried about his appearance and this silly concern was unsettling. After third degree burns had literally melted away his fame, he'd spent years avoiding mirrors. But there was no hiding from the look on the faces he'd encountered each day. His decision to undergo the painful and expensive reconstruction had been as much for the sake of others as for himself. He'd had a mission to fulfill and his appearance had become a distraction from the work he needed to accomplish. So he'd invested most of his savings in the surgeries and trusted God for the outcome.

Now he'd found a woman and a community that didn't seem to notice the last reminder of his foolish behavior. His heart told him to forget his past, but his instinct said otherwise. He had to remain vigilant. If the past caught up with him, the light of his mission would be snuffed out by the glare from his mistakes.

A huge billboard towering seventy-five feet above the interstate beckoned drivers toward the exit that would lead them to Savage Cycles of Houston. Luke parked his truck close to the building and wan
dered through the wide glass doors. He crossed the brick-colored floor and stood in the center of the showroom. Turning in a slow circle, he whistled appreciation for the “high priced toys” that Claire had mentioned.

He crossed to the display and openly admired the lead bike.

“Try it on,” Claire called from across the room.

He turned to see her striding toward him, lovely as always. “You sure?” he asked.

“Of course. It's like buying a hat. You've got to find the one that fits you perfectly.” She swept her hand in an arc, offering him a dozen to choose from.

“You don't have to tell me twice.” He straddled the nearest one-of-a-kind Softail, settled against the plush leather and sighed his approval. “I bet the floors need mopping after men have been drooling over these bikes all day.”

“We don't mind. It's a hazard of the business.” She returned his quip. “Would you like that peek at my secret weapon now?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, glad she'd brought it up so he wouldn't have to ask again. Keeping the bike under wraps until the unveiling at the rally was probably an important part of her marketing strategy.

She led the way through the showroom to the private design shop in the back. On the wall was a full-scale black-ink rendering of the Savage. The
incredible detail begged to be brought to life. As Luke stepped closer to admire the artist's work, Claire dimmed the overhead lights giving the illusion that the drawing was glowing from behind. The soft light source increased until there was no doubt that this canvas was actually a backlit screen.

At the touch of a button, the screen rose slowly on a hidden track revealing the Southern Savage showcased in a mirrored cave set back in the wall. Spotlights struck the super-stretch Softail from every angle. The beams served to deepen the hand-painted red-and-blue feathers floating on a field of white. The gas tank was detailed to resemble a headdress fit for a Texas Comanche Chief.

“Whoa,” Luke breathed, as he stepped into the private showcase and circled the bike.

“Isn't she incredible?”

He glanced up at Claire, who smiled her joy just as any proud parent might. He made several long strides to stand directly in front of the woman who had captured his attention.

“She's incredible all right,” was his simple statement before his lips met hers.

Though still brief, the kiss was deeper than the one they'd shared the night before. Claire thanked God for Luke's tender and respectful approach. It was exactly what she needed but all she could handle.

“Amazing,” he murmured.

“The Savage?”

“Yeah, the Claire Savage,” he chuckled before stepping away. His gaze swept the design shop. “You've done an incredible job here and your bike is a masterpiece. I'm afraid we're about to lose you to the national media.” He looked slightly sad, as if he truly meant the last statement.

She lowered the screen once again, removing the Savage from view. Then she slipped an arm through Luke's and escorted him through the showroom to the front counter where she'd left her bag and keys. “There's not much chance of that. You forget I've had some experience with the media. I know how to keep things under control.”

Outside, he opened the truck door and held her hand as she stepped up into the cab. When she was seated he took both of her hands into his and seemed to study her eyes before he spoke.

“Claire, the press is vicious. They stalk you for money then leave your bloody body to the vultures. Don't think for a minute you can control them or that they're your friends. Trust me on this, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered. He closed the door and rounded the back of the truck.

He was so intense, so sincere. There was more, she was sure of it but he'd have to share his secrets when he was ready. Just as she had to share hers with him.

 

“And this is Buck.” Claire introduced the timid dachshund who shyly tucked his long nose beneath her arm to peek down at Luke.

“I think they like me,” he observed from his spot on the floor. He'd squatted to make friends with Tripod and then settled into a cross-legged position so R.C. could curl his purring body comfortably into a friendly lap.

“Then it's unanimous.” Claire kicked off her shoes and joined him on the Persian carpet with her back pressed against the navy leather sofa. With the three animals begging for attention, they felt chaperoned in her quiet townhome. “Thank you for dinner. The Flying Dutchman has always been one of my favorite restaurants but you didn't need to drive all the way to Kemah.”

“When you live on the road you don't mind driving an hour out of the way for a good meal.” He waved away any inconvenience.

“Where is home for you, Luke?” After their companionable meal she hoped he'd open up a bit.

“About six weeks a year it's a little place in south Georgia.”

“Is that where your family is?”

“Not anymore. My old man was stationed at a nuclear sub base up the road in King's Bay. When he retired from the Navy in the late eighties they moved to Seattle and I stayed behind.”

“You couldn't have been much more than a kid. That must have been a hard decision for your family.”

He shook his head. “I'd been in boarding school all my life and we weren't seeing eye-to-eye on anything at the time, so nobody was too torn up about it.”